How To Look Cool in the '80s

Or, How We Tortured Ourselves To Be Foxy

The worst thing you could be called in the ‘80s was “nerd”. Even its dreaded incarnations, like “dweeb”, “dork”, and “geek”, were to be avoided at all costs. And it wasn’t really about being smart, it was about how you looked. A nerd was anyone who clearly didn’t give a flying flute about trying to look their best and wear the latest trends. If you weren’t putting energy into being “in”, you were out. And that stigma could bury your chances of having an active social life in high school. If you wanted to be invited to parties, get a girlfriend/boyfriend, or simply blend in enough to avoid being targeted by bullies, you better not still be sporting bell-bottoms, butterfly collars, or Marcia Brady hair.

Alyssa Milano was peak beauty goals for me back then but the closest I got to this look was maybe the hairdo

Few things are more torturous than a sunburn, but Gen X didn’t give a fuck. I remember my white friends inviting me to sunbathe and I’d be like, have you seen me? I’m biracial; just playing outside during the summer gives me a deep, dark tan. They wanted to lie poolside doused in baby oil, suntan lotion, or SPF 4, which I don’t think exists much anymore because it’s so pointless. Anywho, I gave in one time and “laid out” with my friend Angie in her backyard, sans pool. Did we use sunblock? Of course not. Her back was so sunburnt she developed blisters. I remember her slowly peeling the dead layers of skin off, while the blisters popped and watery pus oozed out. The memory is like a horror movie to me now. But she said the sunburn would become a tan later, so it was totally worth it.

By ‘87 I noticed some kids come to school looking orange. I learned they’d been using a product I’d never heard of before, a sunless tanning lotion called QT, for “quick tan”. Clever name, but nobody is a cutie when they could pass for Oompa Loompas. Teens who didn’t want to increase their cancer risk but also didn’t want to look like pumpkins opted for tanning beds to get bronzed. Back then, people mistakenly believed tanning beds wouldn’t give you cancer. No wonder the rate of melanoma more than doubled since the ‘80s.

Is it too late to sue them for false advertising because she’s not tangerine enough

Speaking of skin cancer, that’s what we get for depleting the ozone layer with our addictions to aerosol hairspray and deodorant. Even though companies eventually phased out using the CFCs as propellants by the 90’s, the damage had been done. Our desire for big hair, high bangs, and Mohawks caused a hole in the ozone layer that allowed more dangerous ultraviolet light to target us with radiation, fucking up our immune systems and our DNA. Nature got karmic revenge.

That hair ain’t gonna defy gravity on its own!

Then there was Sea Breeze and 10-0-6 Lotion, astringents advertised as the way to clear skin. We’d brace ourselves for the cooling sensation of the alcohol-based toners because the “tingling means it’s working!” Yeah, it was working to damage the skin barrier and strip it of much-needed natural oils. Ouch.

Jheri Curl Activator was all the rage in the ‘80s. I remember my older brother using it to give his naturally curly hair the wet look. But as with hairspray, it was flammable. Basically, it’s a miracle we didn’t all catch on fire like MJ did while filming that Pepsi commercial. Then Eddie Murphy hilariously made fun of Jheri Curl in his ‘88 comedy Coming To America and its popularity went downhill after that, inadvertently saving millions of lives.

Nair commercials convinced me I’d rather have smooth legs for days longer than shaving, but it was an agonizing experience. First, it smelled horrendous. Like, I’m pretty sure the room cleared out whenever I used it. Second, it didn’t work instantly—you had to let the cream sit on your legs for long enough to do its thang—which meant awkwardly trying to relax in a position that prevents the Nair from rubbing off or standing the entire time. Third, it tingled in a bad way, not a good way, similar to those old astringents. It worked like a charm though, literally dissolving hair that easily rinsed away. But the odor, the discomfort, and the inconvenience convinced me to go right back to shaving.

Speaking of unwanted body hair and torture, anyone remember the Epilady?

I never tried it. I’d read that your body hair needs to be a particular length so the Epilady can grab onto it and yank it out by the root, which meant having to sport stubble while you wait for the hair to be long enough again. Why bother if I was going to shave again anyway during that in-between time? Plus, I’m not a masochist.

This next one doesn’t seem like it inflicted suffering, but it did—just not necessarily on the user. I suffered greatly of embarrassment whenever my mom picked me up from school like this (she had these exact same pink curlers).

But some women actually went to sleep at night with a head full of rollers, to wake up with bouncy, curly locks that dried overnight. That sounds excruciating, but anything to achieve that big hair!

Madonna was also peak beauty goals for me back then, but I was too young to look that sexy so I had to settle for the frizzy hairdo